


Rain

by disillusionist9



Series: Choose Dare [40]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Dementors, F/M, Gryffindor Common Room, Quidditch, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disillusionist9/pseuds/disillusionist9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble #40 of 100 | After Harry is knocked out from the dementor attack and his broom is destroyed, Hermione is at loose ends at how to help. The rain lulls her to sleep, and the Captain wakes her up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

Hermione nibbled at the edge of the chocolate bar from Honeydukes. The chilling pall from the dementors on the Quidditch pitch made her skin itch, but the chocolate (she honestly felt guilty eating) made her feel a little better with each bite.

Harry lay on his side facing away from her. Away from everyone in the room, really. No one was up to talking after the pieces of the Nimbus 2000 were picked out of the coarse hospital bedspread.

One by one they filed out of the room, though Fred and George left together, leaving Ron and Hermione as the last two. She knew how much the broom, and the sport, meant to Harry and how embarrassing it was for him to react to the dementors that way. That didn't mean she knew how to console him.

Resting her hand on Ron's shoulder a moment, she offered him the last half of her chocolate bar, whispering that she was going to check on Ginny. Hermione doubted she'd told her brothers about it, but Ginny's experiences with Tom Riddle came up when the spectres converged. When she reached the common room, however, the redhead was near the fireplace surrounded by friends from her own year and other Quidditch players groaning about the loss of the game and muttered concerns about Harry's well-being.

A friendly wave called Hermione over to join them but she pulled a face. Ginny smiled and shook her head but didn't push any further.

The window alcove on the other side of the common room from the fireplace and conversations surrounding it was blessedly quiet except the sound of rain on the glass behind her. Though every seat in Gryffindor was comfortable, the pillows here left little to be desired. Burrowing within them to keep warm, Hermione opened a book on her knees to watch the storm outside and monitor for Ron's return from the hospital wing. Harry would surely stay overnight.

Hermione woke with a start, fishing into her jumper pocket for her wand automatically to cast a quick Lumos. Her other hand immediately touched her sternum to make sure the Time Turner was still there.

The common room was dark, the only light provided by a low fire in the grate and her wand, but she could easily make out the shape of the person tripping through. A toppled lamp told her exactly what had woken her.

"Oliver?" she said, disentangling from the cushions. The light of her wand glimmered off his robes and the puddles forming beneath him. If he was still tracking great droplets in the common room after climbing several floors through the castle, he was soaked to the bone.

Brandishing her wand with the authority of a much older witch, Hermione cast several drying charms on his robes and hair. "Were you down at the pitch this whole time?"

With a nod, a bit shaky from shivering, the Quidditch captain pulled at the drawstrings of his hood. His eyes looked through her and for a moment she saw herself: the look of defeat or loss after obsessively preparing for weeks only to have it all go up in smoke.

"Harry's okay," she said, a little desperate to fill the silence. She fought an internal war between consoling him and not showing an ounce of pity.

Oliver rested his hand, calloused from a decade of obsessive Quidditch practice, on her shoulder after a beat. Offering her a small smile, he croaked out, "Thanks, Hermione. For the charm."

Damn her but that Scottish brogue, rough with exhaustion, sent a thrill up her spine and goosebumps down her arms. She released a breath she didn't know she was holding in, and smiled back at him to hide the soft pull of air back into her lungs. The scent of the rainstorm lingered in the air behind him. Devoid of the familiar wet-dog smell of Harry or one of the other boys after hours in the air, Oliver's robes truly smelled like the storm: rain, a sharp hint of lightning, and wet grass from the Quidditch pitch.

Unlacing his jersey as he went towards the boys' dormitories, Oliver sighed with a rattle of a man who'd spent a good portion of the last few hours having a good cry. He turned to her once he reached the bottom stair.

"You going to bed?" he asked. His eyes betrayed his exhaustion but his tone showed why he was the Captain of the Gryffindor team: even though he was tired, downtrodden, and wanted nothing more than to hide in his room, he looked after his own.

Hermione mentally shook herself and fought the urge to touch the Time Turner again. "In a few, I've got more studying to do."

Oliver nodded in understanding but waved his hand at the grandfather clock as he walked up into the dark of the stairway. "You'd better just caw canny, alright?"

As he disappeared, Hermione whispered back, "I will."


End file.
